


No. 6: Go to a Café

by CallipygianGoldfish



Series: 101 Ways to Say I Love You [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: 101 Ways to Say I Love You, Fluff, M/M, Pining, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:29:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallipygianGoldfish/pseuds/CallipygianGoldfish
Summary: Or: Stakeouts are never fun. Unless you’re Clint Barton and your main entertainment is composed of eating sugar cubes, drinking too much coffee and bickering with your handler...
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: 101 Ways to Say I Love You [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/140280
Comments: 8
Kudos: 53





	No. 6: Go to a Café

**Author's Note:**

> Since I’m currently stuck abroad during a strict lockdown, I thought it would be a good chance to publish some old ficlets that only needed some minor editing! Have some pre-relationship fluff <3

“Well. This is fun.” 

A sigh echoed down the communication unit in Clint's ear, followed by a gentle shuffling sound of a newspaper turning. 

“Barton, this is a stake-out, not a rave. It's not meant to be “fun”.” Clint could practically hear the quotation marks in Coulson’s voice. 

“Yeah, but nothing much is going to happen, is it? It’s not like he’s going to rock up with a big coat and guns inside, right? At this point he’s going to turn out just to need a good haircut and not even attempt to sell them,” Clint complained. 

“Don't bet on it.” Coulson sounded like he was repressing a huff. “Keep your eyes open, Barton.”

Idly swirling his coffee around the cup, Clint stared up at the building across the street. Tall and imposing, the bright flower boxes and cafe clashed with the disapproving gargoyles and stone above. Normally he'd relish any opportunity to get off base, but he was starting to realize why these were called these milk runs. His probatory tight leash was already starting to chafe, and he'd had to bite his tongue so many times to ensure he hadn’t been labelled a desertion risk. 

The great Hawkeye, reduced to being let out under supervision like a puppy that's not yet fully house trained. 

Under a canopy on the other side of the road, his most recent supervisor sat completely nonplussed by Clint's moaning. Looking the part of the casual business man having a quick coffee break, Agent Coulson had positioned himself in the shade so that both men could see opposite ends of the street. Their mark, supposedly visiting a hairdresser situated between the two cafes, could approach from any direction, and supposedly at any minute. Unfortunately, said mark also hadn't been seen for the last four hours, and Clint was starting to wonder if somebody had got the dates wrong. Until then, they'd just have to make do with each other’s company. 

Clint sighed again and started muttering under his breath at the coffee. “Join SHIELD, you said. It'll be fun, you said. I’m bored. Entertain me.”

“Don't you think the quiche here is sublime?”

“C'mon sir, we're not even eating the same thing.” Actually, at the moment all Clint was eating was the sugar cubes put out for tea in a tiny pot on the table. Given a strict mission stipend for coffee and food, he certainly wasn't going to waste it on food. Unlimited coffee, on the other hand, was much more appealing.

“Ah, but my quiche is better than your quiche.” Coulson sounded like he was almost as bored as Clint.

“My non-existent, imaginary quiche you mean? Yeah, yours is so much better. But I've got bunting, bet yours doesn't have bunting.” 

There was a pause down the line. “Barton, you can _see_ mine doesn't have bunting.”

“Mmhmm,” Clint said, pretending to be deeply intrigued in the paper in front of him. The light was glinting off the cutlery on the table next to Clint’s and he squinted into the light, keeping his eyes on the street. “See, mine’s better. And I bet you five bucks my coffee's better than yours.”

“Drink much more of it and we won’t be able to peel you off the ceiling when we get back.”

“Aw, it’s sweet you think caffeine actually does anything to me, sir.”

“That’s your sixth cup this hour.”

“Is it?” Clint blinked down at it. The sugar cube bowl was starting to go down at an alarming rate, and the waiter had started giving him the evil eye. Technically he was still drinking it, even if it was only being sun warmed. “Huh. Should probably get another then.”

“Barton, I swear to god, if we miss this guy because you’re having the shakes, I will put you mopping up the newbies sick for weeks.”

“You say the nicest things,” Clint said, unable to keep the grin off his face. “Anyway, this is all a bit stereotypical, don’t you think? The romantic time of the year, a café, you and me. And some bunting. Maybe I should get a martini as well.”

“Barton,” Phil warned. “I'll talk with you about food and pretend we're normal people, but I swear, if you do one more James Bond impression in public, I will strangle you with a tie.” 

“I mean, cute little European streets, pastries and check everywhere,” Clint said, toying with the tablecloth as he spoke. “And I swear there's a violin player over there somewhere. All that’s missing is gunfire and then bam, we’re the Bourne legacy.” 

“I think it’s a cello actually,” Phil replied mildly, ignoring the rest of Clint’s words.

“Really? Ah, I wouldn't be able to tell the difference.”

“Go visit the Portland orchestra, you’ll be able to hear it.”

“Why Coulson, that almost sounds like a date to me,” Clint joked, then immediately regretted it. There was no point flirting with his boss, he knew it would end badly. Plus, he'd already tried. And so what if his boss just happened to push all his buttons in the right places? Clint could be an adult and maintain a healthy working relationship, unrequited pining kept to the minimum. 

“Keep dreaming Barton. And that's Agent Coulson to you, thank you,” Coulson said, sounding almost like he was teasing. Looking back later, Clint realized this was pretty much the moment that Clint fell head over heels for his handler. Who was he kidding, it was far more likely he’d be pining all year round until kingdom come.

“Certainly sir. And while this is perfectly nice, what I wouldn't do for a little-”

“Don't say it!” Phil hurriedly butted in, but too late.

“-excitement,” Clint finished. Oops. 

“Damn it, Barton, you've doomed us all.” Despite his drastic words, Phil didn't seem that flustered. He gave a light sigh and Clint watched as he carefully folded his own newspaper and set it down. “I suppose this means that things are about to heat up around here. At least you’ve shortened the timeframe, that’s nice of you. I was worried my legs were going to fall asleep.”

“Ahh, sorry?” Clint offered sheepishly. “Happy Valentine’s day?” 

There was silence at the end of the comm, before Coulson sighed. “It's February the 16th. I hardly think - target sighted.” Cutting off his own sentence, Coulson rose quickly from his table and started across the street, shrugging into his jacket as he walked.

“Copy that,” Clint said, rising from his seat and leaving the rest of his stipend as a generous tip before heading out of the maze of tables and bunting. “And boom, on my way.” 

Three hours later with a multitude of broken bones and a few captive renegades, Clint admitted to himself that this was probably the most exciting thing he'd done all week. But there was no way he was telling Coulson that.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
